


All That Remains is This Last Time

by Elise_Davidson (orphan_account)



Series: 25 Ways to Sing [4]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom, X-Men: The Last Stand (2006)
Genre: 25 Ways to Sing, Challenge Response, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:36:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Elise_Davidson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He can't stand the idea that he really does feel metal at his fingers, feels that age-old tap against his mind. One or the other, but not both."</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That Remains is This Last Time

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the unnecessary fandom-spam. I was doing the series thing wrong.
> 
> Song: "The Last Time"-All That Remains

It doesn't matter how much time passes. It doesn't matter how far he's come, how far he's fallen. It doesn't even matter that the chapters are closed, the story finalized, with new tales beginning and ending quicker than lightning.

He isn't sure why he returns to the beach, not when he's finally managed to move on so…completely.

Still, there is something that drew him here; he simply isn't sure what. Something foreign and pitiful claws deep in his gut, something unmovable and deep. He settles on the sand with the darkness of the evening sheltering him. The new moon blackens it further, and gives the beach a haunted quality.

He supposes it should have been tranquil—relaxing even. But like any other coastline he has ever visited, it is ruined by the memory of gunfire and blood, of something broken and forever lost.

Perhaps because even though something is done, that isn't the same as closure. He realizes that the beach isn't serene and peaceful—it's a crime scene of brutality and forgotten alliances. It is not quite the picture of harmony that it should be—it is a showdown that only avoided being a massacre by the strength, sacrifice, and shocked stillness of others.

Erik gets to his feet. His bones are old by this point, his senses are dulled with age. There is only a faint tingle of what used to be power at his fingertips, and he is certain that his mind went along with it.

He walks towards the faint lights of the Cuban, beachside town, and wonders if the metallic taste in his mouth (familiar and bittersweet) is just as imaginary as the soft tap he feels against his mind (also horribly familiar, and the utter worst kind of bittersweet).

So much of it is all gone, vague memories lost along with everyone and everything he held dear. His silver hair flutters against his cap, and he feels the soft tick at his mind again.

Erik shakes his head, hands draped in his pockets, because he can't bear the idea that he can feel any sort of metal at all.

No—this is the last time he attempts to seek redemption in forgotten-pains and wretched, long-buried guilt. This is the last time, and then, he will be gone.

xxxxxxfinxxxxx


End file.
